


sight unseen

by simplyclockwork



Series: oh captain, my captain [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Captain John Watson, Handcuffs, John still tops even when on the receiving end, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Power Bottom John Watson, Smut, Topping from the Bottom, blindfold, blowjob, face fucking, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Captain John Watson, reporting for bottom duty.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: oh captain, my captain [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740022
Comments: 54
Kudos: 244
Collections: Supernova Smut from Various Fandoms





	sight unseen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkAtHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkAtHeart/gifts).



> InkatHeart suggested some Top!Lock for this series, and it took me a bit to figure out how to keep John as in control and aggressive when on the receiving end as he is while topping, so here ya go, John Watson, topping from the bottom/on top of Sherlock's cock???
> 
> You know what? Just read it 😂

John’s footsteps on the stairs alert Sherlock to his return seconds before the sitting-room door swings open to reveal the soldier. There is a duffle bag on one shoulder and a flush high in his cheeks. 

“Oh, god,” John groans, dropping the bag on the floor. Closing the door, he strides quickly toward where Sherlock sits, sprawled in a leather chair before the fireplace with his half-hard cock in hand. His eyes are narrowed, teeth pressing into his plush lower lip, making John sigh as he drops to his knees in front of him. “You weren’t kidding.” 

A slow smirk stretches the corner of Sherlock’s mouth as he slumps lower in the chair, naked from the waist down. His clothed upper half does little to cover the evidence of his growing erection, slender cock curving up from beneath the hem of his rumpled dress shirt. Groaning, John tilts forward and up, drifting his hands over Sherlock’s thighs, head lifted to catch Sherlock’s lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Tongues rubbing together, John’s fingers slide under the shirt to trace quivering abdominal muscles. Sherlock’s breathing quickens, hand tightening as he strokes himself root-to-tip. 

“Mmhmm, just like that. God, yeah. Keep going.” John presses his forehead to Sherlock’s sternum, looking down to watch Sherlock pleasure himself. Sherlock’s wrist moves in slow, steady jerks, pausing to thumb over the leaking slit of his cock, spreading precum down the shaft, and John groans. Ducking his head, breath ghosting over the tip of Sherlock’s erection, his fingers work at the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock sighs at the rush of hot breath against sensitive flesh. His hips cant upward as John slips lower, baring Sherlock’s chest until the shirt falls open. His tongue darts out to trace the head of Sherlock’s cock, drawing a loud gasp from the other man. 

“John,” Sherlock breathes, the name dying away into needy panting as John’s lips slip over the end of his cock. The soldier’s eyes close, a loud, rumbling hum rising in his throat. It vibrates through Sherlock, straight to his core, making him bite out a strangled, “Fuck! John!”

Tilting his head back, eyes flicking up to Sherlock’s twisted face, John smirks. He opens his mouth wider, sliding low and back up, tongue lapping at the fluid beading at the tip. “Hold on, gorgeous,” he murmurs, expression wicked, “we’re just getting started.”

Sherlock groans in response, a tremour working through his body as his head falls back. Eyes fluttering closed, he voices a breathy sigh, John’s tongue swirling along the underside of his cock as he takes him back into his mouth. Struggling to keep his hips still, Sherlock digs his fingers into the leather arms of the chair, thighs shaking when John hollows his cheeks around him. 

Already primed by teasing himself with slow, aching strokes before John’s arrival, Sherlock feels tension ripple through his limbs, balls tightening and drawing up in preparation for release. Eyes flying open, his hands land on John’s shoulders in a warning.

To his shock, John pulls back immediately, Sherlock’s cock popping out from between his wet, swollen lips with an obscene _pop_. To his continued surprise, John doesn’t stroke him into orgasm but rocks back on his heels with a devilish grin. Blinking at him, dazed and teetering on edge, Sherlock can only stare.

“I _told you,”_ John purrs, sounding positively sinful as he rises to his feet, “we’re just getting started.” Hands braced on the armrest, he leans down, claiming Sherlock’s lips in a hard, aggressive kiss that makes him feel electrified. John’s tongue slips into his mouth, tasting like his own arousal. Sherlock closes his eyes, sinking into the feeling of John digging his teeth against his bottom lip. When his lungs begin to ache, desperate for air, John breaks the kiss and moves away. The sudden lack of proximity makes Sherlock’s eyes blink open, his mind dizzy and bewildered. Watching Sherlock with darkened eyes, John backs away, pausing to grab the duffle bag off the floor before disappearing down the hallway toward the bedroom.

“John?” Sherlock calls. Receiving no answer, he moves to stand before John suddenly reappears, hands hidden behind his back. 

Grinning, John sets his concealed objects beside the chair. “Shhh.” When Sherlock moves to peer over the side, the soldier grabs him by the jaw and shoulder, holding him in place with a shake of his head. “Hey now, no peeking,” he admonishes in a whisper. Looking up at him, Sherlock feels a flush of heat working through him, a fire set deep in his gut by the dark, ravenous expression on John’s face. “You hear me?” John barks, tightening his hold until his fingers press hard into Sherlock’s jaw and cheek. 

“Yes,” Sherlock whispers, adding, “Sir,” almost as an afterthought. Body aching for release, the mild pain of John’s grip feels suspiciously similar to pleasure, setting sparks off in his brain and nerve-endings. 

John grins at his response before shifting his hold to drift the pad of his thumb over Sherlock’s bottom lip, pulling it down into a forced pout.

“Good boy.” Releasing Sherlock’s face, he bends and retrieves one of the hidden items from beside the chair. To Sherlock’s intrigued excitement, John stretches a long strip of black fabric out between his hands, one eyebrow rising at the eager expression on Sherlock’s face. “Recognize what this is, do you?” At Sherlock’s nod, the soldier’s grin shifts into a sharp smirk. “Good, I’d hoped you would. Close your eyes.”

Hurrying to oblige, Sherlock holds still as John’s hands move around to the back of his head, the soft, smooth folds of the blindfold slipping over his shut eyes. With deft fingers, John knots the fabric gently against his curls, checking to make sure it’s not too tight, but not so loose as to slip off. 

When he moves away again, Sherlock’s other senses sharpen in response to the temporary loss of his sight. His breathing quickens, catching in his throat.

“John…” he begins, body humming with excitement. John’s fingers trace over his jaw, stroking slowly down his throat. 

“Shhh,” he admonishes again, pressing a finger to Sherlock’s parted lips. “Just wait.” The finger twists, slipping into his mouth, brushing his tongue and coaxing. Moaning, Sherlock closes his lips around the digit, sucking in slow, steady pulls as John lets out a breathy gasp. Another sound catches his attention. Sherlock pauses, resuming his worship of John’s finger with his tongue when John taps his cheek. “Hands over your head.” With Sherlock humming in response, John slips a second digit into his mouth, distracting him from the sound of metal clinking against the side of the chair.

Something cold and sleek slips around his left wrist. Sherlock twitches in surprise, shivering in anticipation as the steel cuff closes around his limb. 

“Give me your other arm,” John orders, fingers slipping out of Sherlock’s mouth before they are replaced with others as John switches hands. Rushing to comply, Sherlock gasps, nearly choking on John’s fingers as he jerks forward in excitement. Closing the second cuff, John presses slowly on his arms until Sherlock’s cuffed hands hang behind his head, knuckles resting on the cold leather of the chair’s headrest. 

John’s fingers slip out of his mouth again before his presence disappears. Breathing loudly, Sherlock blinks behind the blindfold, ears straining, listening for John’s movements. When he hears nothing but silence, he frowns.

“You better not move.” 

The command drifts from down the hall, John’s voice locating him down the hall. Trying to breathe quieter, heart hammering in his ears, Sherlock hears the sound of water striking the bottom of the tub.

He waits, shivering with expectant impatience, wondering what John has planned. His arms ache, and he shifts positions, alleviating the strain on his muscles. Finding a more comfortable angle, Sherlock gasps at the sudden quiet as the water shuts off, the gurgling in the pipes fading away. Silence follows the cessation, Sherlock’s pulse beating fast and unsteady with breathless anticipation, his mind running wild with possibility.

The sound of footsteps draws him out of his head, grounding him back in the present as they stop in front of the chair. He can hear John’s breathing, loud and uneven. The humid quality of the soldier’s shower-damp skin is a tantalizing temptation as he stands over Sherlock. 

A hand touches his cheek, a light caress that shifts into a rough grab. The contact coaxes his head upward to meet John’s lips as they press to his, tongue stroking out until Sherlock’s mouth opens, gaining entry. John tastes the inside of his bottom lip, then the top, flicking his tongue past teeth to stroke against Sherlock’s. His hands rove over Sherlock’s shoulders and bent arms, fingertips tracing lightly under the heavy metal edge of the cuffs, massaging the sensitive skin of his wrists. 

Sherlock moans deep in his throat as John leans into him, pressing his knee between Sherlock’s spread legs, brushing his half-soft cock. His body responds, hardening, thighs quivering when John straddles him, rutting slowly against his stomach. Huffing a shaky sigh, Sherlock drops his head, chases John’s mouth as it pulls away, their bodies losing contact to the tune of his own pleading whine. 

“John, where—” his words die as something presses against his lips, hot and wet at the tip, forcing a groan from his throat that parts his lips, letting John’s soft cock slide into his mouth. Sherlock breathes loudly through his nose, tonguing over the silky flesh, nearly panting as it gradually hardens, swelling in his mouth. The taste reminds him of their first time, of falling to his knees in Regent’s Park, and he knows he’ll never be able to walk in that park again without this filling his head. John’s smell, blurred by a quick shower, turns musky underneath the scent of body wash. The head of his cock presses insistently against Sherlock’s soft palate as it grows. 

“Fucking _hell,”_ John gasps above him. His voice is unsteady, the words breaking off in a desperate moan that makes Sherlock’s eyes roll back beneath the blindfold. His bent arms quiver. The cold metal of the cuffs is a stark contrast to the fire blazing through his body as John begins to slowly fuck his mouth. Softening his throat, swallowing, Sherlock shivers at the growling noise John releases, the sound rumbling through his body and into Sherlock. The head of John’s cock brushes the back of his throat, the girth and length making him struggle not to gag. He fails, choking and desperately sucking air through his nose. John’s hands tangle in his hair, coaxing his head back, changing the angle and helping Sherlock take him deeper.

His nose meets the coarse, curling hair at the base of John’s cock, and Sherlock laps an eager tongue over the root, tasting John’s tangy, leaking tip at the back of his mouth. He can feel his heartbeat in his own cock, painfully hard and terribly neglected.

John shudders above him, a full-body spasm that makes Sherlock steel himself for the impending eruption. Nothing spills down his throat, John’s cock stays hard and erect in his mouth with Sherlock blinking in confusion. 

Suddenly, John slips out of his mouth. Confused but amenable, Sherlock tilts his head forward, prepared for John to paint his face with stripes of cum. Nothing happens, and he frowns.

“John?” 

Hands bracket his face, searingly gentle after the welcome intensity of John’s cock choking off his breathing. John’s lips brush his forehead, drifting over each cheek before pressing to his mouth. 

“Okay?” he breathes, suddenly tender, lips shockingly soft against his own.

Sherlock nods, trembling with need. “Yes,” he pants, groaning into John’s mouth as the soldier sucks hard on his lip. “John, please.”

“Yes, baby.” John’s words send shivers up his spine, Sherlock’s pulse quickening with eager trepidation. “Ready?”

“God, yes, John, yes.” His hips lift, hard cock straining, searching for contact. His arse still aches from the day before, but Sherlock ignores the discomfort, hungry for the soldier, for release. 

John smiles against his lips before leaning back, all contact between them disappearing once more. Sherlock whines his displeasure, fighting the urge to reach out with his cuffed hands to search and grab, to reel John back in. 

When John returns, his earlier shuddering suddenly makes sense. Instead of lifting Sherlock’s hips to prepare him, to fit his fingers into his hole, instead of stretching him wide, John straddles his thighs. 

Their cocks slide together. The sensation forces Sherlock hips forward, willing and ready to frot hard against John until they both erupt. 

John has other ideas. 

Sherlock’s only warning of what is to come is the surprising feeling of slick between John’s cheeks before a hand circles his length, stroking lubricant over his pulsing cock. Shocked, his hips jerk forward again, pushing his erection through John’s smooth grip. 

“Oh, oh, god,” he pants, eyes widening behind the blindfold in realization. John’s low chuckle is a sensuous rumble near his ear, the sound rippling over his spine, straight into his cock, twitching against John’s palm. 

“Mm, yes,” John breathes, rocking himself slowly on Sherlock’s lap, hard flesh brushing into Sherlock’s stomach. “That’s right. I wondered when you would figure it out.”

“John,” Sherlock pleads, shaking his head before letting it roll back, face tight with desperation. “Please, oh, fuck, _please.”_

The only reply is John’s soft laugh, followed by a broken sigh as his weight lifts off of Sherlock’s lap. A hand grips the base of his slicked cock, and John lowers himself again. His entrance is already wet, open, stretched, the head of Sherlock’s erection sinking easily into heat and tight muscle. John grunts quietly above him, pausing to adjust to the stretch, then eases down to take his full length, Sherlock letting out a bitten-off cry at the feeling. 

“Oh, fuck, oh, John, oh my god,” he babbles, luxuriating in the sensation of John’s thighs quivering against his, John’s fingernails digging into his shoulders as Sherlock fills him.

Instead of replying, John’s lips cover his in a messy, sloppy kiss. It ends with Sherlock gurgling with unabashed pleasure at the first slick slide of John lifting himself to drop down again. He slowly fucks himself on Sherlock’s cock, growling against Sherlock’s mouth, biting at his lips, jaw and neck. Breathless, Sherlock’s head lolls back again, eyes tightly shut beneath the blindfold, arms quivering against the handcuffs as they weigh down his wrists. 

The feeling of John riding him is unlike anything he has ever experienced. It has been ages, years since Sherlock topped anyone, and it is nowhere near similar to any of his previous experiences. Sherlock never knew he could still feel like a bottom while penetrating someone, but this is precisely that. John picks up the pace, the long muscles of his thighs flexing against Sherlock’s, the soldier in control, taking pleasure and granting it with Sherlock moaning, shuddering helplessly beneath him. 

John slows the pace, rolling his hips, groaning at the feeling of Sherlock deep inside of him. The head of Sherlock’s cock brushes against something firm, a bundle of nerves, the sensation making them cry out in tandem, John shuddering at the pressure on his prostate. 

“How do you,” John pauses for a shaky breath, bearing down, forcing a long, low moan from Sherlock in response, “always manage to feel so _fucking good?”_

Sherlock can only whimper, hips rolling under the onslaught, dragging over the bundle of nerves as John keeps the penetration deep and steady. 

John’s lips brush the side of his neck, tongue flicking over the curve of his ear. “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispers, a breathless command that has Sherlock scrambling to obey. Lifting his arms, he drops them with clumsy aim over John’s bent head. The metal of the cuffs clinks before meeting the flushed skin of John’s tense, shivering shoulders. 

“Ah, hell, _Sherlock,”_ John sighs, nearly whines, the sound rippling into a harsh snarling groan as he finds a brutal pace. Sherlock’s tips his forehead against John’s, skin-to-skin, bodies pressed together. He draws the soldier into him, taking his weight, shouting as the movement shifts the angle. His hips thrust upward, driving into John’s body, the rhythm a mess, John pressing down to meet him. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, the slap of Sherlock’s thighs against John’s backside a lewd beat to the combined, uneven cadence of their loud breathing. 

John’s mouth finds his, sucks the air from his lungs before travelling lower. His teeth press marks down Sherlock’s neck, lips fastening on his collar bone, sucking hard, Sherlock jolting at the rush of pressure and pain. 

He hammers his hips up hard, and John bites down in time with his dropping thighs, snarling through a sudden, violent orgasm that paints cum over Sherlock’s chest and stomach. One shuddering jerk shoots high enough to spatter the dip of his throat, the shock of it pushing Sherlock over the edge, sobbing helplessly as he spills inside of John. The soldier growls against his neck, licking sweat and salt off Sherlock’s skin, arms locking tight around his torso as Sherlock shivers through his climax. 

Vision whited out, blackened, obliterated by the blindfold, Sherlock falls limp, sagging against the dampened leather of his chair with John panting in his lap. John’s teeth lock around the side of his throat, gasping through a clenched jaw before relaxing, the soldier collapsing against Sherlock’s heaving chest.

“Jesus fucking _christ_ ,” John breathes. He shifts his hips in a little wiggle, moving Sherlock inside of him. It makes them both moan, Sherlock’s voice trailing into little whines as John slowly dismounts, releasing his softened cock with a lewd, wet sound. 

“John,” Sherlock shakes his head, at a loss for words, _“John.”_ His lower body is spattered with cum, an offshoot still clinging to his neck, limbs weak and shaking with the comedown from his own climax. 

“Bloody hell, I _know,_ ” John replies, words trailing into a blissed-out sigh. His weight disappears, footsteps fading away, leaving Sherlock to the sound of his own laboured breathing and the feeling of sweat and semen drying on his skin. After a brief clanking of water through pipes, John returns, stopping in front of the chair before a cold flannel wipes over Sherlock’s abdomen and thighs, cleaning away John’s release. The sudden chill is shockingly invigorating. Sherlock’s resultant gasp is cut off when John’s tongue laps over his jaw and chin, down his neck, cleaning away the cum on his skin, replacing it with warm saliva. 

Humming his pleasure, John unlocks the cuffs and tenderly massages the faint red-lines dug into Sherlock’s skin by the metal. Finally, he removes the blindfold, and Sherlock blinks his eyes open slowly, wincing at the light after the wall of dark. Looking up at John, he finds the soldier watching him with half-closed eyes, his tongue flicking out to trace over his bottom lip. There’s something borderline uncertain in the look John gives him, and Sherlock groans at the stiffness of his legs as he rises to kiss it away with slow, wet lips. 

John softens beneath his attention. Ever the soldier, he inserts his dominance by grabbing Sherlock around the hips, pulling him hard into his body to deepen the kiss. Licking the taste of himself from Sherlock’s mouth, John guides Sherlock with him and backs toward the couch, pulling Sherlock down onto his chest with wandering hands. 

“You gorgeous man,” he whispers, pressing kisses over Sherlock’s face, neck and shoulders. “I hope you enjoyed my surprise.” 

Lashes fluttering, neck arched as John explores the curve of his throat with teeth and tongue, Sherlock gasps, “Oh, I enjoyed it _immensely_ , Captain Watson.” John’s hands grip his arse. They knead and massage, making him writhe, body humming with want despite the dopamine and endorphins filling his brain, turning his limbs sluggishly heavy. 

“Good.” John’s nuzzles into his neck, nose drifting toward the sensitive skin beneath his ear. “Knew you would.”

“Cocky,” Sherlock quips, smiling at the press of John’s sharp grin against the underside of his jaw.

“Mm, not at all,” comes John’s reply, teeth following the path of his earlier kisses. “Any good soldier knows to trust his instincts.” 

Sherlock opens his mouth to respond, but John steals his words with hands and mouth. The onslaught erases any opportunity for coherent thought, briefly banishing the countdown ticking away at the back of his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> apparently, I just write smut now.


End file.
